


Water Torture

by horselizard



Category: Red Dwarf
Genre: Consent Issues, Desperation, Gen, Humiliation, Humor, M/M, Watersports, Wetting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-08
Updated: 2014-03-08
Packaged: 2018-01-15 00:40:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,370
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1284781
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/horselizard/pseuds/horselizard
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When it comes to modifying his hologrammatic projection, Rimmer should be careful what he wishes for.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Water Torture

Rimmer was bored. And when Rimmer was bored, he liked to complain.

Unfortunately for Holly.

“...and I mean, what's the _point_ of simulated food when you never feel hungry, and you never feel satiated? I can _taste_ it, yes, but it's just not the _same_.”

“I'm sorry it bothers you, Arnold.”

“There was _nothing_ about that in the pamphlet! And sleeping's the same. I don't _feel sleepy_ any more, I just _sleep_. And when I wake up I don't feel refreshed. It's shoddy programming, just shoddy!”

“All specifications of your program conform to recognised hologrammatic standards, Arnold.”

“Well, in that case, the standards just aren't _good_ enough! How am I supposed to come to terms with being a computer simulation of my deceased former self when it feels like _this_? It's completely unrealistic. And the less said about certain _other_ bodily functions, the better.”

“I don't see what you expect _me_ to do about it, Arn. I told you. That's the standard program.”

“Then _upgrade_ it! Rewrite the program!” Rimmer had him with this one, he was sure. He was enjoying this little skirmish of wits – enjoying it much more than he actually cared about having those minor quirks of his projection ironed out. “You're the one who's supposed to have an IQ of 6,000. It can't be _that_ hard.”

“You want me to go fiddling around with your program, when I'm trying to navigate a ship the size –”

“Ship the size of a city, yes, yes, we've all heard your excuses. May I remind you, Holly, that this _city_ now has a registered population of precisely two. Which is something in the region of 99.9% _fewer_ crew members than you were originally designed to ensure the wellbeing of. Therefore, Holly, _if_ you expect me to effectively carry out the duties for which you elected to revive me, I suggest you start devoting an appropriate fraction of your runtime to improving _my_ wellbeing.”

Rimmer, pleased with that triumphant final flourish, rocked on his heels in self-satisfaction. There was mutinous resentment in the computer's pixellated brown eyes, the kind which only ever appeared on those rare occasions when he had no choice but to do what Rimmer wanted. The hologram smirked, puffed up with a delicious sense of power. He had just bullied the artificial intelligence responsible for protecting the last human being in the universe into changing its priorities to suit him... and it felt pretty smegging good.

“Okay, Arnold,” Holly finally replied, in a tone which, Rimmer realised too late, was far too familiar.

The sharp pain shot through his abdomen, a pain he hadn't felt in three million and a half years, accompanied by an unbearable feeling of pressure. Rimmer's eyes flew wide open, the smirk quite definitively wiped from his lips. He gasped in shock, and was filled with horror as his simulated diaphragm jerked dangerously against his simulated bladder; he decided he'd better give up on breathing for the foreseeable future, as long-forgotten instinct drove him to clamp his knees together and jiggle furiously on the spot.

“How's that for you, Arn? Bit more realistic?”

“...Holly...”

“According to my calculations, that should be a _fairly_ faithful simulation of what it would feel like to have gone seven months without taking a slash.”

“... _Holly!_...”

“Of course, the data set's incomplete, since no human's ever been recorded going longer than 36 hours without rupturing something. But it was simple enough to extrapolate.”

“ _Shit!_ ” Rimmer wailed, to no-one in particular.

The washbasin, its AI activated by his cry of desperation, swung round to reveal the bunkroom's toilet. Rimmer stared at it in furious dismay. It mocked him with its presence, a toilet not four feet away, with a lid he couldn't lift...

The pressure in his bladder was agonising, and his thoughts were becoming frantic. Would it even make sense to try and pass hologrammatic water into a solid toilet? Would it just fizzle away into thin air as soon as it left his body – like when he came over the sheets in his bunk? But he couldn't, he just _couldn't_ , simply whip it out and aim onto the floor...!

Come to that, he could hardly bear to _move_ , beyond his manic jiggling. His whole lower torso was crippled by such painful fullness that he wasn't even sure he could open his fly without incident. Struggling the few steps across the room to the toilet was out of the question.

“Holly, _please_ ,” he whimpered hopelessly. He doubted the computer would deign to help him, but he was completely out of options, and the pain was getting worse by the second. He didn't know how much longer he could hold it in – in fact, he didn't even know _how_ he was holding it in, it had been so long since he'd had to exercise that particular function. He was managing it _somehow_ , hanging on through half-forgotten instinct and pure desperation, but if he lost it – if he panicked – if he thought about it too hard, he might just –

“...oh, _smeg_.”

Wet warmth spread out over his crotch, soaking into his clothes and seeping down between his legs, and it didn't stop, he _couldn't_ stop it. He shut his eyes, mortified, his face burning crimson; his body had finally given up, given in, surrendered to the unbearable pressure and simply _relaxed_ , and the loss of control was humiliating.

He stood there helplessly, the coiled-spring tension having drained out of him in a split second, leaving him sagging and sodden and stinking and utterly ashamed, and it was _still going_. A brazen patch of dampness stood out dark against the beige of his trousers, getting bigger and bigger as urine saturated his underpants, and streamed down his thighs, and trickled towards his boots. Even the blessed relief from the excruciating pain in his abdomen felt shameful. How could he be so completely at the mercy of a physical sensation that urinating all down himself in the middle of the bunkroom felt like an _improvement_?

“Does it feel like you remember, then? Same sense of release?”

Inwardly, Rimmer cursed that smart-alec bastard of a computer. Same sense of release, indeed; same sense of irredeemable humiliation, too. It was _exactly_ like he remembered, save for the gaggle of jeering seven-year-old classmates, but he could feel their cruel laughter washing over him regardless.

He gave a low groan of despair as the torrent finally came to a stop, the perversely comforting flow of warm liquid replaced by a hollow, disgraced emptiness. The heat was rapidly leaching from the urine in which his lower body was drenched, leaving him cold and wet and sticky; the clammy material of his clothes clung uncomfortably to his nether regions, and the very beginnings of an ominous soreness were starting to prickle at his skin.

“Holly,” he almost wept, his cheeks flaming as he failed to look the computer in the monitor, “please... _please_ give me a clean uniform...”

“Ooh,” Holly tutted, “don't know if I've got the runtime spare for that, Arn. It's taking up a lot of my processing power, y'know, doing this favour for you.”

Rimmer trembled with shame and fury, longing to let loose a stream of invective, and acutely, humiliatingly aware of what a bad idea that would be. If there was one thing he hated, absolutely hated, it was having to swallow his pride. He already felt degraded, powerless and mortified; being forced to beg the computer for a scrap of dignity rubbed it in harder than he could bear.

“Okay,” he spat through clenched teeth, “I take it back, I don't care about having my program upgraded any more... I just want a clean uniform... _please_ , Holly!”

“Well, there's gratitude for you,” Holly murmured. “All right. I think I can do that, Arnold. But I'll have to cancel the upgrade commands first. Give me a few minutes.”

 _A few minutes_ , Rimmer thought in despair, and he nodded his acquiescence, because it could have been worse, because there was nothing else he _could_ do. He shut his eyes again, his face scarlet with embarrassment and his simulated heart hammering, counting down the long, uncomfortable seconds, and praying that nobody would walk in.


End file.
